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Eshan’s Historical Fiction Vignettes

I breathed in the fresh city air as I pace towards my Job. I wasn’t needed in the countryside anymore. I was shamefully replaced by a machine… So were hundreds of other people I know. God knows what they’re doing right now. The industrial revolution is well under way–I don’t think i can keep up. Well, that is why I’m here, working at a mass production factory. It’s worlds apart from fun, but whatever pays the bills. I enter the factory and the minute I do, I get shouted at.

I get called names everyday, I’ve been threatened to be hurt and hell, they would even threaten to cut some of my wage off if my hair wasn’t done a certain way or if my shoes weren’t polished properly. They would put every single flaw on my road just to save money for themselves.

But sir, that isn’t of your c-c-concern, I reply back as I tremble with my words.

Did you just talk back to me!? He shouted. I’m cutting your wage off by 25 percent! Let this be a lesson for others to never talk back to your boss, He added on.

It’s like roaming in pitch-black darkness. There’s nothing stopping you from doing it, but it’s hard to walk around. You’re definitely going to trip and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I really do wish I could say something back. However, in this world, there are superiors and inferiors. My family are depending on me to flourish their lives–that’s what i’ve been working for all this time. I quit my daydreaming and get to work as soon as possible. I try to hear for sounds other than the work of the machines. But I hear absolutely nothing. No chatter whatsoever.

That’s just how it is.

I don’t see it getting any better. One unapproved word and your wage is probably cut in half.

That’s just how it is.

No justice in the air at all. I do my work quietly just as how everybody else is doing. I drop an item and it shatters into pieces. I try to cover it up but it’s too late. My “boss” starts to yell at me. He starts to say these nasty words about my family and I. I couldn’t handle it one single bit. But I suppress my anger. I forcefully stop my volcano from erupting.

My Brother, whom I haven’t seen for 3 years is finally in front of me. My Brother, who stuck by my side even during the darkest days. My Brother, whom I love worlds more than my parents. I could never see the day where I would meet him again. He, without us knowing, left for work to the US to give Ma, Pa and I a better life. Atleast, thats why I think he left home. Now that I’m finally 18, I could do the same, but now I’m sure I’ll give my family a better life.

I take one step towards him.

I remember, so long ago, on a rainy night I was crying. The rain was assaulting the ground brutally and the sky was of pitch-black darkness. He stuck by me, he let me sleep in absolute warmth while he kept his eyes open for me. I do remember that we had school tomorrow on that day. But I guess that didn’t matter to him… When it comes to me, it never did.

I take another step towards him.

Then there’s that day… The day I so wish to forget but it seems nearly impossible. The day where I wish I could just—

July 2nd, 1898 was the day he left for America. Like a knife to my heart. That knife is still within me, it was never taken out, since I’ve never gotten over it. I know he loves us, but he never told us that he went. He only left a note. Is that all we are to him? Is that all a family is to him? A note?

Everybody clears out of the ferry in a blink of an eye, while I slowly take my steps. I take in deep breaths.

He’s out there. He’s looking for me. Like I’m an escapee.

I shake my head along with my thoughts. I get off the ferry and I head towards my Brother.

My past is buried underground. My wretched, crooked past is finally behind my eye. I want to start a new life in the USA. No, I WILL start a new life here.
Here are your papers sir, welcome to the US, the official says,

Thank you very much, I respond.

I carry my bag on the right, and my map on the left. It’s time to start all over again. I take my very first steps on the ferry to the city. Although there was no true difference as of now, I feel like i’m in on another planet. The air is fresh, the atmosphere is emotionally warm, and I feel free. I am ready to become someone new. I’m ready to become someone loved. I’m ready to become someone well known. I keep these positive emotions in my head–I’ll need it for all the events I’ll face in the upcAs I wait for the ferry to arrive to the main city, I get weird looks shot at my direction. I feel a slight unease in my stomach. What did I do? Is my hair alright? Every possible negative thought goes in and out of my head. I move to another spot. Nothing changes. It’s as if I’m being constantly poked wherever I go. I feel as if time goes by slower if I’m in a problem, and it goes faster if im not in one and iI can’t take the weird looks from these people. Suddenly, to my left, a man initiates a conversation with me.

You should not be here, the man says with a confused look on his face.

Why? This is a country of freedom, I reply back.

B-b-but you’re Italian… it says on your bag, He says, but louder.

The man does not say anything after that. I tried to say something back but before I could, he pretended he never even talked to me. Like I was just an illusion.What is the USA? My late Papa told me it was a friendly country, full of opportunities. He never ever said that they are rude and judgemental. I never thought a country like this would remind me of back home.